


Written Promises

by breakfastbeebo



Series: Ryden One-shots [10]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Friendship, M/M, Pre-Split, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, continuing non-linear series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakfastbeebo/pseuds/breakfastbeebo
Summary: Nearly everyone was lucky enough to have a soulmate, connected by the sharing of skin; any marking made upon the skin of one would appear on the other. Everyone was born with another half destined to complete either own, but no one was born with the answer of who it was. Some wrote constantly, others in smaller more meaningful doses. Others were silent, unsure if they were prepared to enter the chaos and search.Brendon chose the latter option, only watching words appear and grow all over him, and staying silent. It could have been anyone- how could he think of the right thing to say? It was a complete stranger. Well, it had to be. If it was anyone he knew, he would have figured it out by now. Right?





	1. Out There. Right Here.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted anonymously on Tumblr.

It started with wobbly blue lines, appearing slowly on Brendon’s hands. An unknown and unsure ghostly hand sketching them on his skin from some other world. Brendon could only _hope_ to one day be a part of it. He had had them his whole life, at first thinking that he had some form of invisible imaginary friend, constantly trying to send Brendon messages. But when he was six, his parents explained that the appearing and disappearing markings weren’t magic or anything to be feared; it was the universe connecting him to his _soulmate_. Even at six, he thought it was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. But then, names, phone numbers, grocery lists, sketches, and mindless designs began to show up along his arms; there was another life on the other side of that pen. It was a real person. Someone Brendon was destined to be with, but was yet to ever actually _meet_. The vast possibilities were overwhelmingly endless. At first, it was frustrating since he was practically _stuck_ in the same one hundred square miles of suburban Las Vegas, but then, after suddenly joining the band and shifting his circle of friends to the vast homogenous diversity that was California, Brendon felt hopeless. Who could he find there? What use was any of it?

In the last few years, the drawings had begun growing darker, the ink showing up far more clearly and fully on his skin with every stroke of the pen. Brendon wasn’t sure what it meant- if he was geographically closer to Them? Were They moving closer? There was a young guy moving into the house down the street. But there was also a girl three doors over that was moving out to go back to college. Did it mean They were leaving him? Were They hurt? In danger? He had already lied to his parents about locating the other person; asking questions about the strange phenomenon was out of the question.

It was just him. And so it had been for twenty years.

Last week, Brendon had been sitting in bed, trying to silence his curiosity, and hopefully the mind taking up both of their arms as blank canvas at nearly midnight. He had intended to read, but the words were just passing past his eyes blankly, all content spilling past him. Brendon splayed a hand over a page as he creased the spine, the top of his hand suddenly littered with short tally marks. As they appeared, darker and retraced over his knuckles, Brendon looked up from his book quickly. Of course, the rest of the house was empty, Brendon looking up and for some reason expecting a miracle- or ghost of some sort to tell him the truth. The cryptic lines had been appearing for far longer than that evening, a nervous tick Brendon assumed, creeping up without warning. Most of the time, Brendon would awake up with them all over him; hands, arms, palms, sometimes ankles. Whoever was supposed to be Brendon’s predestined other half sure was restless. At least that could filter the pool of suspects to insomniacs.

Every morning when he woke, washing the pen markings off with ease- the original markings already washed off on the other side of the world- the thought of scribing his own never crossed his mind. Brendon always had reservations about answering back. What could he say? It was Their skin being used for their own purpose; phonebook, notebook paper, prison wall, it wasn’t his business. Not really.

Brendon typically never felt the markings forming on his skin, unless a particularly pointed pen was used, so most of the art or writing was a complete surprise. It would show up as painfully awkward reminders that Brendon had failed all attempts to find its writer. They would form on Brendon’s forearms as he sat across from a prospective new date, his sleeves not long enough to shield either of them from the truth that halted all conversation. They would appear all over his arms in the middle of the night, the words crossed out and written over a thousand times, illegible and secretive. The only time Brendon had been safe, in his experience, was when he was busy on stage. Either the two of them seemed to agree on the time revealing themselves wasn’t ideal, despite having never met, or he sweat most of it off, never seeing Their attempt at communication.

Part of Brendon hoped the charade would end soon, though. There were only so many different ways he could hide the words he didn’t understand and try to explain the phantom he carried with him every day. Brendon wasn’t special in his search, but his seemed to be the most fruitless.

* * *

The morning of the first pre-tour practice, Brendon awoke to the pounding sound of his alarm, just as irritating as he intended. It was still dark in his room, the sun only peeking through the curtains to provide shadows to the room. In the darkness, he blindly reached out to silence his alarm. The arm that extended seemed to fall directly in a shadow cast in from the window opposite him. It was darkened, the shadow seemingly spotted. Brendon sat up and felt around for his lamp switch, trying to push away the shadow that seemed to move with him. In the light, the shadow remained, revealing itself to be swirling and twisting thoughts unwritten by himself, running down to his wrist and running away from him.

 

_I pass so many faces, so many eyes_

_They wander and search me_

_Looking for ~~my~~ our secret;_

_A word, a line, a shape that isn’t mine in creation._

_They are looking and I wonder_

_If any of them are you._

_If there are even any eyes looking now._

_If there is ever a reader to these dreams_

_Or if I’m the lucky one_

_Given the gift of silence;_

_The one person who will always answer back_

_By making you do it first._

 

The words stretched out the entire length of Brendon’s arm. It was the largest and most comprehensible happening yet. Four years and Brendon had never been able to read clear words from his other half, the other side. They were reaching out to him, asking if he was really there, if he was real. Or if they were one of the odd numbers that were left unmatched and meant to find another loose end to settle with. All Brendon had to do was draw a line and end the concern, but that seemed too simple; they wrote Brendon a _poem_ and he would reply with just a scribble? He’d have to come up with a better plan than that. He had to be delicate and sincere. This would be the end of a period of desperation and silence. It was a drought; it couldn’t just be ended with a flood.

Getting out of bed, Brendon crossed the room the bathroom, undressing and looking for any other attempts at communication; only his right arm, wrapping all the way around. Brendon showered quickly, the ink running off his body quickly and easily; They must have already been awake- or never went to sleep- and had ridded themselves of the evidence. Brendon had gone to sleep early that night, God knows how long They might have been waiting for a response. Brendon scrubbed the guilt off his arm before stepping out of the shower and covering himself up with jeans and a long sleeve button up- if he had a reprise stanza, he didn’t want any of the guys to see it forming in the middle of a set; Brendon didn’t even have a name or _gender_ of the person behind them. He was a proven failure. Not even luck was on his side.

Typically, people wrote addresses, dates, times, or names on their arms hoping to already know the person, but Brendon had kept a strict silence. He was terrified to break the façade. Whoever was writing those poems, those beautiful lines that poured out from the heart, might be disappointed by him. What if They would prefer to just be alone after Brendon’s response?

He’d have to get it right. Hear from experts- or really, the only dumb-lucky fool he interacted with daily.

After collecting his things and himself, Brendon grabbed his keys and phone and headed for his car. If he was lucky, he’d get there early and be able to have a few minutes alone to consider his first journal entry. Even luckier, someone there would be able to tell him and bypass his entire frozen mindset.

His brother found his soulmate by writing the address of the nearest coffee shop, his wife in Nevada by some stroke of universal will. His parents sought out each other after writing the same bible verse shorthand on their arm by chance during Sunday school. Jon happened upon his girlfriend, then a stranger, once she wrote her phone number on his hand and accidentally wrote it on herself as well. Spencer was attempting to locate his own soulmate by keeping records of all the words that appeared on him. Most of them though, by some freak chance, weren’t in English. Either Spencer was going to have to go international with his search, or he was looking at a French student with a horrible memory. The first option was a definite morale crusher, but Spencer still seemed hopeful. Ryan never really spoke to the topic often, saying he wasn’t that worried about it. He insisted that getting too wrapped up in the obsession right before going on tour and passing through _mobs_ of unfamiliar faces was a surefire way to lose your mind.

Brendon envied his attitude. He wondered what was showing up under his sleeves that left him to be so nonchalant and confident in his search- or lack thereof.

Brendon drove in silence, looking at street signs and mulling over the idea of writing down a street cross section and requesting a face-to-face meeting. But nothing would be worse than discovering they resided by completely different oceans. He rejected the idea as he approached the street he was originally searching for. As Brendon pulled up to their practice space, he saw Spencer and Ryan climbing out of their own car. Spencer waved and Ryan held a hand over his eyes, squinting in the early morning light. His wave was far less enthusiastic.

“’Morning!” Spencer said once Brendon was out of the car and in earshot. “Ready?”

“Definitely.” Brendon nodded shortly. “Excited to get started. You?”

“The same.” Spencer agreed, the two of them walking side by side to the front door.

“I’ll be ready in about two cups of coffee.” Ryan muttered behind them, rubbing his eyes.

“Hung over?” Brendon laughed. “It’s _Tuesday_.”

“No. Just didn’t sleep well.” Ryan corrected, lowering his hands once they stepped under the awning that hung over the doors. “I’ll be fine.”

“I was at Ryan’s last night,” Spencer offered an explanation plainly as he waved to the man sitting at the front desk. “going over some ideas for tour.”

“Already ahead of the game.” Brendon noted with sounds of agreement. “Great. Can’t wait to hear them!” Ryan mustered up a tense smile, his features consumed with something unrecognizable and distant. Seemed like something other than Spencer’s ceaseless chattering kept him up. Brendon hoped he wasn’t nervous for tour; he knew Ryan’s constant last minute jitters that always flared up on the first days: first day of practice, first day of tour; first day of recording; first day in a new country. Doubt was a powerful enemy.

Spencer navigated the hallways quickly, muttering room numbers to himself and searching for the space reserved for them. It was towards the very back of the building, windows becoming far less frequent as they walked down a thin hallway; benefit of soundproofing. The lighting became artificial and the rising sun became irrelevant. They were without time, so it seemed.

“’Morning, gentlemen.” They all waved at the label manager standing at the front of the room, papers in hand and huddle of techs around him. Brendon forgot his name, and evidently no one seemed to say it as they greeted him. “Going to start just running through some stuff, hearing how it sounds- how you want to _change it_ ,” He meant that he had revisions already in the works. “We’ll work on a set list later.” When he was finished his own draft.

“Great.” Ryan said without any inflection.

“Jon should be here soon.” Spencer added overtop of Ryan’s reply, diverting the room’s attention from the growing tension. “Just parked.”

“Excellent. I’ll leave you to do your work. I’ll be _right_ at the end of the hallway if you need anything.” His words implied a voluntary meeting, but they all nodded with the understanding that they’d never call him over. He’d be there every fifteen minutes with the same vague comments and suggestions until someone said a comment a _little_ too honest and he turned sour. Ryan was already in the running of being the culprit that morning.

Spencer took his seat behind the drums and began warming up his wrists while Brendon and Ryan began checking the tuning of their guitars already placed out for them. Brendon’s had already been handled by a tech and needed no further adjustments. He swung the guitar around to rest behind his back as he walked up to Ryan who had his neck bent downward, listening for the correct notes as he made adjustments.

“You alright?” Brendon asked, approaching his attitude with more hesitance than usual.

“Yeah.” Ryan replied, not looking up. “Just tired. I told you.”

“Just checking.” Brendon replied defensively. “We’re going to be in here pretty much all day… Don’t snap on him too quickly; he’s just trying to help… Or control. Can’t tell yet.” Brendon laughed and reached out to bump Ryan’s shoulder lightly, not disturbing his work.

“I know. I’ll play nice.” Ryan agreed, looking up at Brendon, a smile pulling at his committed grimace. “Promise.”

“Thank you.” Brendon granted Ryan the full smile he was struggling with before turning away and greeting Jon in the door.

“Hey, sorry for being the last one.” He placed his bag down by the door before reaching for his instrument.

“It’s fine.  All you missed were the typical orders and requests we _will_ be ignoring.” Spencer laughed.

“Alright.” Jon nodded, already understanding the mood of the room. “Where are we starting?”

“Henry hasn’t presented us with his legislation on the set list yet.” Ryan replied, eyes still staring downward as he adjusted his corner of the room. At least someone knew his name, even though it seemed like he was using it more to insult than to dignify his position of power. Ryan looked up as the room remained quiet, surprised by his commentary. “What?”

“That kind of day? Alright. I can do it.” Spencer let out a laugh as he tested each head of his drum set. “Ready?”

They all nodded, settling into a previous routine, playing the same songs they had last tour. Time slipped past them as they focused on the songs they altered and rearranged and grew into melodies that could fill arenas as well as small indoor venues. It was a delicate balance. One that was interrupted not soon after they set in to work out the acoustic mid-set break.

The door swung open and Henry walked back in, clipboard in hand and pen tapping against it like it was a glass and he was about to make a toast to the room. He demanded the room easily, his presence taking up nearly the band’s entire view of the mirror in front of them.

“Great news!” He announced, holding the clipboard up. Brendon squinted to read the lines- the fine print.

“I’m sure.” Ryan quipped, bracing his elbows on his guitar and looking at Henry with a tense but patient face. He gave a side glance to Brendon. He would keep his promise. As Henry spoke, Ryan twisted with his shirt cuffs, turning the buttons until finally pulling it through the loop and loosening his sleeves to cuff them. His focus was an obvious sign he had no interest in Henry’s words.

“So, I put together my ideas for a set list- you boys you welcome to change it,” _Boys_. “but I think it does the job.”

“Thanks.” Brendon forced out, the paper being extended to him first. “Uh, hey, Spence? Ryan? Didn’t you two have some ideas you wanted to go over?” He turned to look over his right shoulder, keeping Spencer and Ryan in his vision while blocking Henry.

“Yeah! I mean, sure, we have a few things.” Spencer piped up, a set list being held out to him. Spencer had to stand to reach it, the paper suddenly coming a few inches short of an arm’s length. “Just some… Song order ideas.” He trailed off as his eyes read the page in his hands.

The order was scrambled and had no flow or theme; it had them ending with a lesser known song from the most recent album. Ryan stepped up to read over Brendon’s shoulder, refusing to take a paper from Henry himself. He continued to roll his second sleeve as he looked, muttering in Brendon’s ear as he did.

“He can’t be serious.” Ryan sighed, nudging Brendon’s side lightly.

Brendon looked over his shoulder to Ryan, their words traveling an inch before reaching the other; their words staying just between them. “Be. Nice.”

“You know, every time you say that I want to kill him a little more.” Ryan deadpanned, his weak smile gaining energy from the laugh Brendon attempted to pass off as a cough. “One of these days, Brendon. You’re going to get me to commit murder.”

“Promise?” Brendon asked, eyebrows raised innocently. “Because unless you want your solo, slow-tempo ballad to open an arena tour, you might have to start doing something.” Brendon’s finger tapped the first song numbered at the top of the page. Ryan’s eyes shot up to the top, reading the title and face paling.

“I need a drink.” Ryan sighed, stepping back and pulling his guitar off his body. He placed it down carefully, his arm extending at full length as he leaned over to tuck it back into its case. The skin on the underside of his right forearm was red and raw. Brendon diverted his eyes before Ryan saw him looking, wondering and worrying about it; they would have to get Ryan’s song changed or his arm would be bleeding by sound check.

“Me too.” Spencer agreed, placing his drumsticks down and giving the room a knowing look.

“Good idea. Take five-”

“I’ll take as long as I like, thank you.” Ryan responded sharply, blinking at the frozen expression on the face of the executive. “Anyone else want lunch?”

“I’m in.” Brendon responded immediately, having skipped breakfast that morning. And dinner the previous night. His skin had been restless recently, and he spent most of his time trying to decode it.

“Be back soon.” Jon said neutrally, being the first out the door, followed by Spencer as he wrapped around his set, Brendon, and then Ryan. He closed the door behind him with as little grace as he could. “Don’t wait up.”

They reemerged from the thin hallway, the walls flaring back out to the window lined foyer of the building, the sun now high enough in the sky to illuminate all sides of the building. The sunlight warmed them even as they crossed the floor to the front doors.

“Anyone know a place to eat?” Jon asked, the four of them falling into a typical formation as they started down the sidewalk. He looked at Spencer, who walked beside him, before throwing a glance over a shoulder at Brendon and Ryan.

“Ryan and I tried a place a couple blocks this way a few weeks ago. Anyone else mind?” Spencer was met with sounds of approval, the three of them nodding at him before falling into their own conversations, silent or verbal.

Under Brendon’s sleeves, his forearm began to itch. The fabric was probably too stiff and heavy for such warm weather, but he wouldn’t be bothered to lift his sleeves. He hadn’t looked all day. With his luck, he had become a mural in the hours between waking up and then. It was better hidden, or at least only admired in the silent privacy of night.

Brendon still had to think of what he would write back to his internal and eternal pen pal. He couldn’t respond in the middle of practice and leave the other person with four words after They had offered him more than just well-arranged letters. His fingers traced along his cuff, the temptation burning along his fingers and up to his arm. He let his hand drop to his side with a sigh, his appetite fading as his stomach began to fill with the heaviness of guilt and swallowed words never expressed.

“You alright?” It was Ryan’s turn to ask, his mood turning around after leaving the practice room. His face was neutral and attentive, but exhaustion still shadowed his features.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Brendon countered. He let his finger tap against Ryan’s wrist, not needing to point more directly at the blemish he was concerned with.

Ryan twisted his cuff back down over his arm, suddenly aware of how blistering red the skin appeared out of the artificial practice light. “Just, uh, tried a new detergent the other day. Obviously not good for me.” He muttered quietly as he rebuttoned the sleeves around his writs. “Was up all last night scratching.”

“Oh.” Brendon crumpled his expression as he offered wordless apologies to Ryan.

“It’s okay. Not a big deal.” Ryan finished his second sleeve and shook his wrists, settling the fabric while also waving away Brendon’s expression. “It’s fine. Let’s just get lunch. Do you know what you want? You’re hungry, right?” At the moment, no. The thought repulsed Brendon.

“Yeah.” He lied, smiling. “Never been… Wherever we’re going though. Don’t know what to expect.”

“Nothing too extravagant.” Spencer said, having been listening as his conversation with Jon lulled to silence. They stood at the corner of a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “Just a sandwich place. It’s got like, four tables in the whole place.”

“How did you find it again?” Brendon wondered, looking more so at Ryan for the truthful response.

“There is a French place down the street.” Ryan said softly, lifting his hand to conceal his words. “Spencer was following some of the writings on his arm a little bit ago and we went to the restaurant- God knows why, the fuck do the French really know about food- and when I wasn’t in the mood for unpronounceable seafood, we found our way a few blocks down to _this place_.” Ryan waved his arm up at the building awaiting them at the other side of the street.

Brendon would have mistaken the place as another house along the sidewalk, the aged and sun streaked white siding looking more like that of a home than a functioning business. He didn’t object and followed the three of them in the front door.

There were two other people in line before them, staring up at the lettered sign hanging above the short wrap-around counter. Ryan didn’t look up at the menu, but instead at Brendon; he was looking up with a growing look of discomfort and disinterest on his face.

“Not like anything?”

“No… Just not hungry all of a sudden.” Brendon admitted. The churning in his stomach was starting to swirl around in his ears. His hands fiddled with his cuffs again. “Don’t feel like it.”

“You have to eat something. We’re going to be in that _dungeon_ for the next twelve hours. You and I both know it.” Ryan countered. “You have to eat.”

“Really, I’m fine.” It seemed to be the most common expression exchanged between the two of them. Brendon didn’t like to think their friendship was based purely on the exchange of lies.

“Shut up and go sit down with Jon. I’ll get you something.” Ryan said with both finality and laughter, pointing at the only free table at the other end of the deli. “The order process is weird; Spence and I’ll do it.”

“I’m not-” Brendon stopped a lie from coming from his lips, one already buried under his skin. “Thanks.”

“Please. Don’t mention it.” Ryan winked and waved Brendon away, stepping up to Spencer as the line condensed.

Brendon walked past the line and sat across from Jon, his shoulder leaning against the wall. Jon was on his phone, most likely speaking to Cassie for the first time that day since their morning had started early. Brendon didn’t interrupt him and looked around at the newspaper clippings framed and taped to the walls. He didn’t notice the pair of eyes that kept glancing back at him from the line. He was too fixated on the article about the fire that nearly ended business three years ago.

“Hey, crazy morning, right?” Jon said finally, placing his phone down and engaging Brendon in conversation. “What is he _thinking_?” The name had already been forgotten.

“Not sure.” Brendon laughed, throwing his hands up to shrug. “I’m sure we’ll fix it though. Either that, or we won’t really have a show.”

“Hope we can. While still keeping our jobs.” He added, rolling his eyes. Brendon wasn’t sure who it was meant to antagonize; Henry or Ryan. Either way, neither were going to be a peaceful force to coax.

Brendon nodded in agreement and shifted in his seat, facing Jon. He placed his hands on the table, fingers drumming on the table top softly. Brendon was back to looking at the décor, oblivious to the eyes on him, including Jon’s.

“…What?” Brendon asked, his hands lifting to touch his face, attempting to find the obvious blemish or deformity Jon was focusing on.

“What’s TC mean?” Jon asked, his head nodding toward him. His eyes were focusing on his hand slowly.

“I don’t know.” Brendon replied honestly, looking at the letters being scribbled on his left hand.

“Any ideas?” Jon asked casually, turning his head to look at it from a different angle. “Know who it is?” Typically, the question was followed with the most painful three letters: _yet_. Jon withheld it and asked with sincerity and patience.

“No.” Brendon sighed, pulling his cuff over it and sliding his hands off the tabletop. “Working on it.”

“Fair enough.” He accepted the answer without further questioning; not everyone was lucky enough to find their soulmate in their homeroom freshman year. “Don’t worry too much. There are only so many people in the world. You’ll find them.”

“There are seven billion people.” Brendon deadpanned.

“Minus the couples.” Jon countered. “That leaves you with _only_ about… I’ll say four billion.” He laughed and reached over to push Brendon’s shoulder lightly. “I’m kidding, relax. Not a big deal.”

“I know.” But it was to that other person, scrawling away on their skin, screaming silently and reaching out into the dark, hoping someone would reach back, answering the call. Brendon would have to answer that call soon. He couldn’t leave Them to think they were a child of the dirt, destined to be mismatched and alone. “Just need to figure out what to say.”

“You haven’t written anything?” Jon asked, surprise crossing his neutral expression. Brendon shook his head, tugging on his sleeves again. “Shit. How did you ever cheat in high school?” Brendon was relieved by Jon’s light-hearted joke, grinning and letting his fingers come up to rest on the edge of the table.

Their laughter was interrupted by Ryan, placing his hand on Brendon’s shoulder as he passed, telling them Spencer was waiting on their food. He walked on, presumably to the bathroom, his right hand twisting his left as he disappeared around a corner. Both Jon and Brendon watched him hurry away.

“You think he’s okay? He’s been pretty weird lately.” Brendon asked, eyes still fixed at the end of the hallway.

“I don’t know.” Jon shrugged, turning back to Brendon. “Love the guy but sometimes I don’t even know where to start, ya know?”

“I guess.” Brendon mumbled. “Hope this tour kicks off a lot better than the last.” Ryan didn’t speak the entire flight, bus ride, or sound check. Brendon was no better though, every free second he had, he was staring down at frantically written words too rushed to understand, trying to understand, trying to _help_.

“I’m sure it will be.” Jon assured him. “We’ve all gotten better since then.”

Brendon nodded and looked down at his hands. He hadn’t gotten _that_ much better since the last tour; he still didn’t know what any of the words meant. He still hadn’t figured out what had happened all those miles away. Nervously, his fingers ran over the words on his left hand, the tingling in his other arm extended over to the other. As he itched, the letters smudged and began to disappear on his hand. He hid his hand under the table hurriedly, still trying to remove the lettering in secret as Ryan fell into the seat next to him.

He entered the conversation with a scoff, wiping his hands on his jeans. “No receipts or paper towels. This is the most green small business I’ve ever seen.”

“No receipts?” Brendon echoed, the annoyance unclear.

“To get your food you have to have a receipt, we got little notes jotted on our hands.” He rolled his eyes as he moved his chair closer to the table. “Had to copy mine onto Spencer’s hand just so I could use the bathroom.”

“You are just having the _worst_ day.” Brendon sighed, patronizing him.

“Shut up.” Ryan fought another smile and pushing Brendon’s arm, his hands sliding off one another and halting his attempt at erasing Their communication. “Told you I’m running on like, two hours of sleep.”

“We know. Still not sure what you could _possibly_ have been doing.” Jon said, raising his eyebrows but lowering his eyes to his phone, muting his following commentary.

“I was waiting for someone, I’ll have you know.” Ryan replied, placing his hands on the table. “Waiting for someone to get back to me. Guess I couldn’t stay up past four.” Ryan muttered the last part to himself, his thumb rubbing the skin on his left hand, the skin turning red just like his arm.

“Here we are!” Spencer announced his arrival before sitting down across from Ryan. “Jon here’s yours, Ryan, and Brendon.” Spencer handed Brendon a sandwich wrapped in thin foil. He took it with a quiet muttering of thanks as he placed it on the table in front of him, careful not to leave his left hand above the table for too long. “I got that last time I was here. It’s really good, but not that heavy; Ryan said you weren’t feeling that good?” He wasn’t inquiring for accuracy, but for more information on the topic.

“Just not feeling it.” Brendon replied, waving his right hand around to gesticulate his articulation. “Palatable tension and resentment ruins my appetite.” He threw a look at Ryan, who ducked his head as the table laughed.

“I promised I’d be civil.” Ryan answered. “I promised.”

“We still have the other half of practice.” Brendon reminded him, his fingers finding the folded flap of tinfoil and lifting it as his elbow nudged Ryan.

Jon replied with a snide remark, the table’s laughter slowly getting louder, but Brendon never heard the exact words; his eyes were too transfixed on the small lettering written on the foil, identifying the sandwich: _TC_.

If Brendon hadn’t lost all appetite to eat by that point in his day, he wasn’t going to be hungry until at least next week now. The realization was disorienting and horrifying. Brendon felt embarrassed, someone at his table being his designated other half, and he _didn’t notice_. Hell, he never even wrote back. There was no charming way to talk his way out of that. Soulmates or not, They didn’t have to like him after the way Brendon had threated Them… _Him_. Who was it?

Jon, definitely not. Brendon had been sitting with him when the letters showed up; it would have been impossible for him to be at fault. Ryan, couldn’t be. His hands were completely clean, admittedly red and painfully raw looking, but clean. Not a word written. All that left was Spencer. But that… That couldn’t have been right either. Spencer already had someone. Why would Spencer write paragraphs on his arm searching for someone? Unless Spencer had two… Brendon had heard of it a few times; people having two channels, two different soulmates. All three weren’t in connection, there was only one person who branched out to two other souls. Sometimes they all got together, but most of the time one person was left behind, left out to try and settle with a missing piece, forgetting that their true soulmates words would appear on their skin involuntarily.

It couldn’t be. Brendon couldn’t be the forgotten, pulled along soul everyone pitied. He had already lied to his family. Spencer was already completely entranced by his French mystery, an awkward friend and bandmember was not nearly a good enough trade off.

Brendon thought his stomach was going to make its way into his throat, swirling and churning like a storm as he looked at Spencer. The same letters appeared on the hand resting on the table, for all to see. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t _right_. Those words weren’t Spencer’s. He was never worried about being met with _silence_. That wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been. There was something wrong. Something wrong with _Brendon_.

“Hey I think I left my phone in the studio, I’ll be right back.” Brendon said, standing quickly and stuffing his hands into his pockets, hiding his hands and pretending not to feel his phone. He avoided a particular set of eyes as he turned and went for the door, nearly tripping over his chair and own feet. Brendon was out the door, on the sidewalk, and seconds from walking onto the crosswalk without a second glance when he heard someone calling after him.

“Brendon! Wait!” Ryan had a hand out, not only waving for his attention, but trying to grab his shirt before he nearly walked into traffic. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing.” He lied; old habits die hard. Brendon took a step back and stood firmly on the sidewalk. Ryan’s hand gripped his shoulder tightly, the again exposed raw skin stretching up his arm. Just looking at it made Brendon’s own arm sting, a sensation similar to frantic scratching ghosting over his skin. He let his eyes fall to the sidewalk.

“Okay, I know I started my day practically dead, but you do know I’m not blind, right? I mean, I’m not a _complete_ idiot.” Ryan said firmly, his eyebrows raised incredulously.

“I didn’t say that-”

“But if you say you’re ‘fine’, or some variation thereof one more time, you practically are. And I won’t have my intelligence insulted by two people today.” Ryan’s dry humor was the most honesty in the area they had expressed in a while. They were both far too sober. “What’s wrong?”

Brendon dug his hands into his pockets again. “Nothing-”

“Brendon, I swear to God.”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you.” Brendon said harshly. “I know you don’t want to hear it.”

Ryan’s hand lowered and his expression softened. His lips parted as he looked shocked and _hurt_ by Brendon’s response. “I-I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know, Brendon.”

“No, I won’t make you listen to my crap.” Brendon scoffed. “You said it yourself that it’s foolish to get too involved in it.”

Ryan’s voice immediately lowered and he stepped closer to Brendon, their conversation enclosing between them again. “Did something show up at practice?” It was the first time Ryan was even _interested_ in the topic, typically waving the topic away with a clean and unmarked hand.

“Not practice, but…” Brendon looked around at the empty sidewalk, as if anyone passing by would understanding the strings attached to the news he had stirring inside of him. “But, something did show up while we were waiting, just a minute ago.”

“And? What does it say? What’s wrong?” Ryan was trying to follow Brendon as closely and quickly as possible to the same understanding, but Brendon had very little information to give. He just lifted his hand from his pocket. “Is that it.” His eyes fell on the letters, now known to be abbreviations, and his voice grew grim. He seemed to come to the same conclusion. Even Ryan pitied Brendon in his sudden hopeless situation.

“Don’t say it. I know.” Brendon sighed, letting his hand drop quickly. “Believe me, I’ve been to every conclusion in the past _two_ minutes. I don’t need them to be fact checked, okay?”

“W-What do you… Who do you think it is?” Ryan asked slowly, his hands wringing in front of him.

“Don’t make me say it.” Brendon grumbled, turning to notice the light had since changed, giving him the safety to escape further. “I don’t need this.” He began walking away. Ryan stayed put.

“Brendon.” He called to Brendon who was a quarter of the way across the street. He didn’t yell, in fact, Brendon wasn’t even sure Ryan had called after him at all. Brendon kept walking, keeping his head facing forward. “That-That’s my handwriting.”

Brendon was sure he had imagined it. It was a trick of the city, the humming cars and gentle wind and chattering outdoor cafes deceiving him. He stopped in the middle of the street, letting his head turn to look at Ryan, acknowledging he had spoken, if he had at all…

Ryan was standing at the very edge of the sidewalk, having stepped up moments from chasing Brendon. His eyes were wide, blown from sublimity and blinking rapidly as he tried to filter reality from any dream his sleepless night was attempting to use to disorient him. His arms hung by his sides limply, completely weightless from shock. The skin on his right arm was just as red and raw, the tingling skin under Brendon’s own sleeve suddenly making a lot more sense, feeling a lot less painful. The matching sensations coinciding with scrubbed away communication, a dedicated attempt to forget and erase the permanent.

Ryan stepped down from the curb, meeting Brendon in the middle of the street, mouth hanging open as if words would one day come. But he had written them all down. There were none left.

“It was _you_.” Brendon approached the subject slowly. “You.”

“You were there the whole time.” Ryan was finally being answered by something other than prolonged silence. He looked close to tears or laughter- Brendon wasn’t sure which at the moment. “You’ve been here the _whole time_.”

“I guess I have…” Brendon breathed, looking down at his own hands, finally having found their artist. “I-I’m sorry for the silence… I never knew what to say. You… You wrote such beautiful things,” Ryan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I never knew how to tell you that you weren’t talking to nobody… Because you kind of were.”

“Jesus, Brendon, I didn’t need a sonnet. Just a line, a word, a shape, _something_.” Ryan finally began laughing, grabbing both of Brendon’s shoulders to shake him lightly. “Anything would have sufficed.”

“Well, you could have told me that.” Brendon muttered, blush rushing to his cheeks. “I mean, we have a _direct_ form of communication, Ryan.” Finally, no more lies.

“Next time you give me the twenty-year silent treatment, I’ll consider it.” They began laughing again before being interrupted by honking cars, the two of them still in the middle of the street.

“Shit!” Brendon quickly reached out and began pushing him back to the street, the two of them stumbling into and over each other as they reached the curb again. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this now.”

“No. No. Definitely not.” Ryan agreed, brushing his shirt down and looking over his shoulder to see if Spencer and Jon had made their way out onto the sidewalk out of curiosity. “Not here.”

The discomfort was unnerving, but at least equally shared. The information was shocking and undeniable, but they still had other things to do before they could even discuss what it all meant now. What all four previous years would mean _now_ that it had been Ryan writing all over Brendon during tour, long nights, and early mornings. They’d both need time to relearn what it meant to be each other’s friend, each other’s _other half_. They would need to learn how to be _together_. They had spent so long with some part of themselves belonging to the other, they now had to reintroduce themselves.

But it couldn’t be there. Not now.

“Do you… Do you want to maybe do something after practice?” Brendon asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Rejection _now_ would be horrific and not even the immediate promise of rushing traffic could cure it.

“Absolutely.” Ryan nodded, smiling softly. “As long as I’m not in prison by then.”

“Hey, you said you’d be nice.” Brendon said with faux shock, feeling comforted by the unaltered smile Ryan offered him, the two of them starting for the shop again.

“I lied.” Ryan whispered, shrugging. “I do that sometimes.”

“Can’t believe, first day of meeting my sought after clandestine other half, and he lies to me. And vaguely threatens to kill our label manager.” Brendon muttered, clucking his tongue softly. “Unbelievable.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Ryan began, placing an arm around Brendon’s shoulders. “We both have a very long time to start believing it.”

“Starting with lunch.”

“Promise you’ll actually eat it this time?” Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow and reaching for the door. “Sorry. Sorry. No more promises.” He paused for a moment. “You better eat that damn sandwich or I’m going to start using permanent marker.”

“Do you promise?”


	2. Shattered Lies

Brendon and Ryan agreed not to tell anyone of their most recent discovery. They decided it made the most sense to figure it out between themselves before welcoming the whirlwind of opinions and commentary coming their way if they happened to tell anyone- or god forbid make it _public_. They agreed it would be the best choice.

But Spencer was Ryan’s best friend, he couldn’t _not_ tell him. Brendon would understand; Ryan was sure he had someone he would tell anyway too. They’d be allowed that. They didn’t have to shut out everyone else now that they had found each other.

“You… You’re joking, right?” Spencer said blankly. He was sitting cross legged on Ryan’s bed watching him move furniture around, rearranging his room to compensate for the change he couldn’t control. “ _Brendon_?”

“No, Spencer. I decided to think of the most _distorted_ truth I could and then just fucking lie about it.” Ryan deadpanned, a stack of books in his hands.

“I’m just making sure. That’s… That’s kind of a big deal.”

“Thanks. I had no idea.”

“Okay, I get it; you’re bitter and don’t have sensitive feelings like the rest of us where finding your soulmate _isn’t_ exciting.” Spencer sighed, glaring at Ryan. “I get it.”

Ryan stopped and placed the books in a similar pile on the floor by the bed. “I just mean, _don’t_ make this a bigger deal. I know what a mess this is. Believe me, I’ve thought about it.” The fact that the two of them were already friends and had a public relationship seen as such would make telling anyone else a ground zero for viral gossip and tabloid fodder. Tell no one, spare everyone.

“It won’t be a mess.” Spencer argued, holding his hands out for the pile of clothes Ryan pulled from his dresser. “I just mean, it’s _Brendon_. Wow.”

“I know.” Ryan nodded, keeping all implication from his voice. He was simply agreeing. “I know.” Spencer accepted the clothes from Ryan’s hands and placed them in his lap, his hands resting on top of them as he fixed his posture, bouncing on the bed slightly.

“So…” He started, looking at Ryan with an innocent expression. “When are you going to ask him out?”

“W-What?” Ryan fumbled with his clothes and accidentally kneed the drawer shut on his hand. “ _Ow_ \- What are you talking about? Like… Like a _date_?”

“Yes, like a date.” Spencer laughed, teasing him. “You know, when two people go out. Get to know each other… Which, should be a simple task since you guys are two halves of the same whole.” The idea of Brendon complementing him in some way still was surreal to Ryan; everything he didn’t understand about himself _might_ start to make sense when he was with Brendon.

“I’m not asking him out on a date.” Ryan replied shortly. “That’s out of the question.”

“ _What_?” Spencer asked, eyebrows going up. “Are you telling me you don’t think he’s cute or nice or friendly or possibly the funniest drunk for a first date-”

“That’s not what I said.” Ryan was hoping that Spencer didn’t remember all the things on his list that Ryan willingly admitted to. “I’m just not going to force the whole _romantic_ thing on him. We’re already friends! There are soulmates that are like that. That’s possible.”

“Yes, but-”

“No.”

“ _Yes_ , but” Spencer persisted. “that is from preference, not fear of rejection.” He was right. Spencer’s one sister had a platonic soulmate, but that’s because romantic involvement wasn’t something she was interesting in. Ryan on the other hand couldn’t say the same things about himself, even in a quiet lie between friends.

“Listen, I just think it’ll be better for everyone if we just, see other people too.”

“Too?” Spencer echoed.

“I mean, we’ll obviously have that closer friendship, but if he wants to go off with someone else, I don’t care.” Ryan had prepared himself for the thought before truly accepting it as his future reality. He wouldn’t stop Brendon from living his life.

“But in that scenario, you are just planning for him to go off and have sex with someone.” Ryan shuddered at Spencer’s heavy and blunt choice of words. “But what if he falls in love with someone?”

Ryan had an answer ready. “That’s fine. At least he’s happy.”

“But he’ll be the happiest with _you_.” Spencer argued, laughing at the simplicity of the point. “That’s kind of _why_ you are soulmates, Ryan. You can’t forget that. You chose each other in some other life or world to live together in this one!” Ryan blinked, Spencer’s eyes glowing. “I’ve read a lot of books on this, Ryan. Trust me.” Ryan shook his head and placed more clothes on Spencer’s lap, attempting to cover the bright and optimistic smile staring him down.

“I’m not trying to change his whole life, Spencer. He’s only twenty.” Ryan said. Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, noting that out of the three of them, Spencer _was_ the youngest. “I can’t ask him to just _stop dating_.”

“I think of everyone in his life, you are the only one that’s allowed to ask.” Spencer countered, starting to fold the clothes on the top of the pile.

“What if he doesn’t feel that way?” Ryan asked, pretending there were still clothes in his dresser. He felt around at the bottom of the empty drawers. “I mean, that would just be _horrible_.”

“Why don’t you just _ask_.” Spencer laughed. “That’s really the one way to know.”

Ryan turned away from the dresser and stared around at the controlled destruction around the room. Everything was out of drawers and in the process of being arranged. Nothing was in order anymore. Nothing was where it should have been. Was this how it was going to be all the time? Was this his new normal; messy, turned over, scattered, and completely _his fault_.

“I hate when you’re right.” Ryan said, sitting down on the floor amongst the chaos. “I’ll think of something.”

“I invited him to get coffee tomorrow, want to come?” Spencer asked, pushing the clothes off him and sliding onto the floor as well. “I can ask him later tonight.”

“I can do it.” Ryan reached over to fumble with the pile of his floor that was his desk materials. He rolled up his sleeve and grabbed a pen rolling toward him.

 _Doing anything tomorrow?_ He wrote in his typical handwriting, although it was probably the first set of non-frantic words Brendon had seen show up on his skin in a while, although every part of Ryan was humming. He knew someone would answer, _finally_. He had spent most of his life thinking he was alone, his family casting him out for being a lone pair, and now he knew someone was on the other side, reading his words, being a part of him. But now that Ryan found him, he was also willing to let him find someone else…

 _Coffee w/ Spence_. Brendon’s handwriting showed up directly underneath Ryan’s, small and all the letters taking the same uppercase size. It was gentle and lazy, like Brendon was lying around after practice when Ryan just began to bother him. Ryan stared at the words for a moment, Spencer staring as well, trying to figure out what to say, when more words began to appear. _You should come._

“He asked me to go.” Ryan said quickly, holding his arm out to show Spencer. “Do I say yes? Or is that-”

“Yes! Say you’ll go!” Spencer nodded, pointing at the skin open for Ryan’s answer. “Say you’ll go!”

 _Sounds great. Be there_. Ryan placed his pen back on the floor, rolling it back into the pile near him, and let himself smile at the invitation.

“This still doesn’t count as a date, by the way.” Spencer noted quietly. “Having me there makes it a _not_ date.” Ryan opened his mouth to respond but shut it the moment Spencer quirked an eyebrow. He was right; Ryan would have to ask Brendon on a proper date, would have to ask him to not see other people, to try and commit to him only. He would have to make his feelings known. Ryan had no idea how Brendon would react. He nervously pondered Brendon’s possible thought process; if anyone could predict it, it would be Ryan.

* * *

Ryan was outside the coffee house, pretending that he was locked in his car. Or at least, that was the story if Spencer came over to drag him in by his hair. He could see Brendon sitting outside with Spencer, leaning back in his chair, arm extended and holding his coffee cup, legs crossed and body somehow completely elongated and breathtaking at ten in the morning. Ryan had such a fascination with Brendon, always had, but now that it could actually go somewhere it was poisonous, making Ryan freeze up and feel sick. Just yesterday, they were _fine_. They were friends. They still were.

Ryan opened his car door and started across the street for the coffee shop slowly, hoping they wouldn’t notice him until he was beside their table; stay out from under the microscope for as long as he could. He went to the end of the street to cross, standing further behind Spencer but getting a more complete look at Brendon’s face. He was laughing, Ryan being able to hear it quietly from where he was. He leaned forward ever so slightly in his chair, his grin somehow gaining rapid focus and causing Ryan to nearly miss the change of stoplight. All Ryan could see was Brendon. He was doomed.

“Ryan! Hey!” _Fuck_. “What’s up?” Ryan walked faster although he was hoping to stay further away. As Brendon spoke, Spencer turned around and looked at him, winking subtly. Spencer was going to _blow it_.

“Not much.” Ryan said when he reached the table. He shrugged and allowed himself to stand slightly left of the center of the table. Closer to Brendon. “How long have you been here?”

Brendon tapped his cup against the table, the hallow sound answering him. “At least one cup. Probably going to get more. How about you, Spencer?”

“Still working on it.” Spencer shook his cup and the coffee inside sloshed around truthfully.

“How?” Brendon laughed, standing slowly, Ryan shuffling to let him have space. “It’s been like, an hour and a half. I’m pretty sure they’ve changed shifts in there.”

“I’m just going slow today.” Spencer shrugged and Ryan could feel his expression souring strictly at the _attempt_ of subtlety.

“Well, I’m going with Ryan to get more coffee, you keep the table.” Brendon said, touching Ryan’s arm lightly. He invited himself to go along with Ryan suddenly. It was normal, what they did most of the time, but suddenly Ryan felt himself getting nervous. As friends, just simple and unconnected friends, their conversations flowed freely and easily, but now Ryan was worried something would bring it all to a screeching halt. Namely himself.

Brendon walked into the coffee shop first, keeping his hand on the door to hold it for Ryan. Ryan placed his hand under the handle to make sure he didn’t accidentally lose to his own urge to place his hand near Brendon’s- just to see what would happen. The place wasn’t busy at all, only another couple sitting inside by the windows, the two of them doodling on one another with pen and grinning at the copy that appeared on their own skin. There was a man behind the counter pinning a nametag to his shirt as Brendon and Ryan approached. Ryan stood behind Brendon, still mulling over his coffee order. The man still had his eyes on his badge as Brendon stood by the register.

“Hi!” Brendon said brightly after a silent moment, although his voice rang with slight confusion and irritation.

“Hi, how can I- _oh_.” The man looked up as Brendon spoke, his expression went slack and he became speechless. Ryan recognized the look; he felt the same way about Brendon too. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Brendon said again, grinning. It was innocent and kind, his smile stopping both of the men looking at him. “Can I have another latte. Please.” Brendon pointed kindly at the foreign letters written on the side of his cup, indicating more clarity than his actual order.

“Of course.” The man said, grabbing another cup and copying the symbols. “Anything for you.” He winked and Ryan felt his stomach sink. Brendon’s response was nothing but flattered and sincere. “Can I have your name.” Ryan gave enough effort to look at the man and to find his way onto his name tag. Already, Rick was getting under Ryan’s skin.

“Brendon.”

“Ah,” Rick smiled and wrote the name on the cup with finesse and a swift hand. “a prince.” Brendon laughed with obnoxious amounts of beauty, and Ryan just stood beside him, scowling. It was only this guy’s muscle mass index that was allowing him to get away with using someone’s _name meaning_ by means of flirtation. Some people didn’t know how lucky they were. “We’re cleaning one of the machines right now so it’ll take a minute. When it’s finished, I’ll bring it out to you.”

“Oh, okay.” Brendon said, nodding but looking at him strangely. The man was turning towards Ryan already. “Don’t I have to, you know, exchange money for that?” Brendon made a gesturing motion between the two of them, his money extended.

“No.” Rick laughed, shaking his head. “Royalty doesn’t pay.”

Suddenly, Ryan wasn't hungry anymore. All he could think of was taking the scolding hot cup of coffee being promised in his future and pouring it down the front of himself. Sitting in the boiler would be less uncomfortable than standing beside Brendon and watching him be flirted with- and him be flattered in return.

Brendon stepped aside, grin still on his face, and let Ryan order. Rick’s demeanor was more slouched as Ryan stepped up; already, Ryan wasn’t his number one concern.

“Order?” He asked, picking up a cup and marker, his eyes staying on the cup.

“Just, a cup of black coffee. Hot as you can make it.” Ryan replied, returning as much effort as Rick offered. “Absolutely boiling.”

“Okay. That’ll be $2.45.” Rick responded, scribbling on the cup. “Name?”

“Ryan.” He said, holding the money out to him. “It means ‘little king’.” Ryan made sure to keep his grin plastered on his face until him and Brendon turned away from the register and walked back outside.

“Was that too awkward for you?” Brendon asked quietly, holding the door open first. Ryan kept forgetting that as subtle as he thought he was, Brendon could see right through him.

“For me? Why are you assuming that I had any-” Ryan sputtered, trying to wipe the grimace off his face and smile at Brendon. “I don’t care if he f-flirts with you.” Ryan hated his own reluctance to stay the word. It felt sharp in his mouth. “I just wish he didn’t…” _Do it at all._ “You know…”

“No, I understand.” Brendon nodded, reaching the table. “It’s always awkward when it’s in front of your friends. They aren’t supposed to see _that_ side of you. The romantic side is off limits.”

“That was romantic?” Ryan muttered, taking his seat slowly. “Thought that was an attempt to get laid.”

“I’m not splitting hairs.” Brendon smirked as he leaned back in his chair again, stretching his arms up. Ryan slowly huffed out a laugh and turned to look at Spencer, pain most likely evident on his face. Ryan felt like he was swallowing glass shards. It was awful. Lying was so much easier when you didn’t have the truth ramming into your slide with ever bubble of laughter and accidental brush of the fingertips.

“Splitting hairs about what?” Spencer asked, his curiosity presenting Ryan with another mouthful.

“Whether or not that barista wants to sleep with Brendon.” Ryan said through a tense smile. “He gave him coffee for free.”

Spencer’s smile slowly became just as twisted and uncomfortable as Ryan’s. “Really? Wow. That’s _great_.”

“…Why do you both look like that?” Brendon asked, waving a hand in front of their faces to try and change their expressions. “Stop looking so _weird_. He’s just being nice.” He poked the side of Ryan’s face and Ryan’s face fell immediately. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I paid for my coffee.” Ryan pointed out, his instead deadpan dropping with sadness. Brendon opened his mouth but quickly closed it to simply nod.

“Alright so maybe he _was_ flirting.” Brendon agreed. “So what?”

“Well…” Spencer started, scratching the back of his neck. Ryan reached under the table and grabbed Spencer’s leg, digging his fingernails into the skin as harshly as he could through the denim. “ _Ah_ -I mean, I just… uh, I didn’t know that you…” Spencer waved his hand out to Brendon and was hoping the rest of his sentence would fall from the sky, fall from the stars and stop Ryan from drawing blood.

“That I what?” Brendon echoed. “Wait, this isn’t about me being into guys, is it? Because you definitely _do_ know that.” Brendon looked at Ryan and he could feel every sharp corner and jagged edge of his simple words cut into him. The sentence might not have fallen from the heavens but the person who finished it sure did. “That shouldn’t be surprising.”

“I guess I just forgot.” Spencer shrugged, shaking his head and sighing as Ryan finally let go of him. “I lose track of these things.”

“Well, write it down.” Brendon joked, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m not about to explain it every time I have my boyfriend around.” Ryan tried not to notice how Brendon spoke as if he already had one, tried not to notice the reason for Brendon’s joke, tried not to think about how Ryan was meant to be that boyfriend. Ryan just laughed and bumped Brendon’s arm playfully. “Here, let me write it down.” Brendon reached in his pocket for a pen, playfully grabbing at Spencer’s hand to scribble on it.

“No, come on! That’s the worst thing to have appear on your skin; _Brendon: Gay_. That’s not very affirming to whomever is out there, looking for me.” Spencer argued, yanking his hand away. “That’ll ruin my chances.”

“Ruin your chances with a soulmate?” Brendon repeated. “I don’t think that’s possible. They are always supposed to work out, Spence.” Ryan wasn’t sure he believed that, but he would spend all his time praying it was true.

Ryan cleared his throat, swallowing another fistful of glass as he prepared himself to speak, only to be cut off by Rick walking outside, calling Brendon’s name.

“Here’s your latte.” He placed Brendon’s cup down carefully in front of him. Ryan’s cup didn’t even have the lid fully in place, hot coffee spilling on his hand as he took the cup from Rick. “Is there anything else I can get you?” Ryan glared at Rick, standing in between him and Brendon, their lowered height getting them eye-level with his belt buckle. “Maybe dinner tonight… At six?” Brendon’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked up at him and Ryan craned his neck away, the shards of glass rising in his throat.

Spencer was already looking at Ryan, eyebrows knitted together. “You can’t be okay with this.”

“I’m getting through it.” Ryan gritted, clenching his jaw. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a stupid crush.”

“On who’s part?” Spencer asked, looking at Ryan with regret. “The barista’s or yours?”

Ryan shook his head and refused to answer Spencer, the answer already evidently clear and giggling quietly beside him. Any feelings Ryan had for Brendon were wrongfully validated by their connection, now only turning into torture. On his hand, Ryan could feel a pen scribbling across it, the barista’s phone number being spelled out boldly on his skin. He wrote it big and carelessly so when it appeared on Brendon’s other half, it was obnoxious and a clear reminder he got there first.

Ryan got the point; the universe brought him and Brendon together, but his own self-doubt and a tight t-shirt was all that was needed to keep them apart. Ryan wondered if Spencer read anything about _that_.

* * *

The minute Ryan walked back inside his home, he began cleaning again. He started in the kitchen, pulling out dishes and utensils and wiping down cabinets. It looked like he was moving out—and part of Ryan wished he was. It was eight thirty and Ryan knew Brendon was probably having a great time on his date. He didn’t want to think about the laughs they were having or the charming smile Brendon was flashing him every time Rick flattered him. Ryan pushed away the thoughts of them kissing at the end of the night. He stopped himself before his thought process could go much further; Ryan didn’t need to break any dishes. Just another mess for him to clean up. More broken pieces.

Ryan was standing on one of his few sturdy dining chairs to dust the top of his overhanging lamp when letters began to form on his hand. It was an address of a place Ryan had never been to. Ryan was hoping it wasn’t the guy’s address; Brendon possibly being too drunk to get there himself and needing a return address. Ryan dropped it to his side and continued to work without his left hand, not wanting to look at much longer. The mystery was enough to drive Ryan mad—as if he wasn’t already.

The lamp was dusted and bright and Ryan stepped back down from his chair slowly, only nearly tripping once both feet were on the ground. He stepped back into a broom and stumbled into the counter, his hands going out to catch himself on the tile. His left hand came back into his vision and Ryan tried to look away but found three words pulling him back in: _Come get me_.

Was Brendon calling to _him_? He _had_ to be, right? There was no one else he knew would see it? And no stranger could have written it- how could they knew if Brendon had found his soulmate? Only Brendon knew there was someone who would see it. It was Brendon. Brendon wrote to him. Brendon needed his help.

Before a second thought, Ryan grabbed his keys, and a pen, and raced for the door. He answered Brendon just as he got in the car: _On my way_.

All of Ryan’s worst fears were wrong, but the mildly terrifying ones were confirmed; the address brought Ryan to a bar just on the other side of town, small but upscale. Ryan pulled past the front of the building, getting to the parking lot, and looked at the line of people hoping to get inside the bar, basking in the bright neon light and shadows of the spotlights shining up into the sky. Beside the line, sitting against the curb, was a familiar face, slumped and head hung in his heads. Ryan pulled in the nearest spot and jumped out of his car.

“Brendon! I got your message! What happened?” Ryan called, holding his arm up and showing the handwriting that committed them to the other.

“Sorry. My phone died.” Brendon said quietly, his voice low and head still in his hands. The sight was somehow worse than that afternoon, Ryan swallowing a whole pane instead of tiny shards. Ryan sat down beside Brendon slowly. “I didn’t have a ride.”

“Where’s Rick?” Ryan placed a hand on Brendon’s back. It was as close as he would get.

“He left.”

“What? He _left_?”

“I got up to use the bathroom, and when I came back, he had just _left_.” Brendon sighed. He turned to look at Ryan with bloodshot and puffy eyes, and for the first time, Ryan understood why his reaction was so visceral and intense; it was how Brendon was feeling. He could feel Brendon’s churning stomach, his trembling hands, hear his racing thoughts, feel the warm anger bubbling in his chest.

“Oh, Brendon. I-I’m so sorry.” Ryan managed, placing his other hand on his knee gently. Ryan felt his stomach drop, but he wasn’t sure if that was his own or Brendon’s. “He’s an asshole.”

“I don’t know what I said.” Brendon muttered, covering his face and cutting off their eye contact, cutting Ryan loose. “I was _charming_.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Brendon. I’m sure.” Ryan was trying _not_ to imagine the date in order to reassure him. “Sometimes guys are just assholes-”

“I’m the worst date ever.” Brendon groaned, resting his forehead on his knees and putting his arms around his head. Brendon leaned into Ryan slightly, tipping over and letting his shoulder rest against Ryan’s side. “Why did I think we’d get along?”

“Because he was nice to you.” Ryan replied, leaving out all jealously from his tone. “And you were nice back… I think that’s the grounds for a good relationship of any kind, really.” Ryan laughed, rubbing circles on Brendon’s back. It was the basis of their friendship; all Ryan did the first day he met Brendon was smile and make a joke, and all Brendon had to do was laugh and they were friends. Of course, other worldly forces were intermingled in their first encounter, but it all worked the same. They didn’t know any different back then… Although, now they did. “Guess he wasn’t the right one.”

Brendon’s shoulders shook slowly as he began to laugh. “That’s pretty biased coming from you, Ry.” They weren’t going to pretend it wasn’t the truth.

“What can I say? A soulmate just knows these things.” Ryan tried to say it in the most non-committal and nonchalant way, but his voice twisted and sounded broken as his joke became wistful. Brendon turned his head slowly and looked back into Ryan’s eyes. A wave of regret washed over him and every instinct in him fought wrapping his arms around Brendon.

“Yeah… You do know these kinds of things.” Brendon nodded, trying to pull together a smile for Ryan. “Guess I should have listened to you.”

“I never said anything.” Ryan noted, trying to recount how well he had held his tongue that afternoon.

“No. But I could see it on your face. I heard what you _wanted_ to say.” Brendon said.

“All of it?” Ryan asked, his throat running dry.

“I’m pretty sure.” Brendon nodded, a smile finally appearing on his face. “You wanted to absolutely deck him, right? Right around the time he mentioned royalty.”

“Very true.” Ryan agreed, also knowing what else he was thinking then. How he was thinking he had made the biggest mistake, trying to please Brendon when he hadn’t even asked him what he thought. How he had allowed himself to give off the impression that he was _okay_ letting Brendon slip away from him. How he hadn’t really been honest and told Brendon that he was honestly relieved by the truth, knowing that all the bubbling and uncontrollable feelings he got from being around Brendon were somehow all meant to be. How he had been lying this whole time. “Well, did you hear anything else?”

“Uh, mostly just that.” Brendon said, continuing to smile at him. “Why, was there something much worse you are keeping from me?”

“No.” It was a reflex, Ryan shaking his head and pulling away from Brendon before he could even understand the question. “I just mean… There was something else- it’s not bad though. It’s just…” Ryan could feel the glass rub against his tongue as he tried to speak. He could practically feel the blood running down his chin, spilling his secret. “I was actually just thinking about how jealous I was.”

“Jealous?” Brendon echoed, his expression falling. Ryan clamped his mouth shut and tried to keep all the blood inside, not allow Brendon to see the pain he felt keeping it to himself. “But that guy’s an _ass_.”

“I-I didn’t mean…” Ryan sputtered, placing his hand on Brendon’s back again. “I meant you.”

“Jealous of me?” Brendon repeated, still not understanding. “Ryan, you just saw that I had the _worst-_ ”

“I meant that I’m jealous of someone flirting _with_ you!” Ryan cried, the glass suddenly tumbling out of his mouth as he finally admitted to Brendon all that was cutting him up inside. “I’m just jealous, okay? Really… Really, jealous.”

“Y- _You_ want to go on a date with me?” Brendon understood the point with terrifying clarity, Ryan forgetting they were somehow sharing an experience. “But… I thought… I thought you didn’t want to.”

“No…” Ryan shook his head slowly. “I thought that’s what _you’d_ want. Thought you wouldn’t… that you’d say… I don’t know.” Ryan stopped the words tangling and twisting in his mouth.

“Would you _want_ to go on a date with me?” Brendon asked the question with hesitation and fear. The same type that was pooling Ryan’s mouth and pouring out as he opened his mouth to answer. “I mean, like a-”

“Yes.” Ryan stopped Brendon before he could go any further. No matter what the stipulations, Ryan would go. “I want to. I really do.”

“Oh.” The thought stopped Brendon and he looked down at his wringing hands. “When… When were you planning on going _on_ that date with me?”

“How about Friday night? After practice.” Ryan asked, hoping to get Brendon’s attention back. “Would that be okay?” The longer Ryan waited, the less bravery he’d maintain; he had to do it soon. It was about time.

“Yeah… That’d be fine.” Brendon smiled and looked at Ryan again, his eyes searching over Ryan’s face as if it was all unfamiliar. Like he was finding new things to see. “I’d love that.” Brendon’s smile didn’t fade as Ryan began laughing, his nerves expelling every ounce of doubt that had been weighing him down beside Brendon. Brendon wasn’t repulsed by the thought. He was willing to try, but Ryan somehow already had the idea it would be more than an attempt at getting along. They would be starting. This was a first date, a beginning of something much greater.

Finally, Ryan knew what Spencer was so damn excited about. Although Ryan was sure that no book covered the bliss of realizing your life was finally settling on a path that made everything go right. No silences, no one-way conversations, no resignation. Ryan didn’t know what to do with the feeling. He just stayed beside Brendon, the two of them exchanging the same helplessly joyful grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Any ideas/things you want to see up next, let me know! My ask on tumblr (@breakfastbeebo) is always open.

**Author's Note:**

> VERY aware that this is a little short snippet in the wide possibilities of this AU. Curious if anyone would want a little series for this, not continuing in a DIRECT linear fashion (a la another huge fic) but showing Bren and Ryan slowly coming around to the idea of being soulmates after really only being good friends (romance would obviously be the endgame).  
> Let me know (in comments or on tumblr, @breakfastbeebo)! Really excited about this piece!  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
